The Reign of the Dark Lord
by SpanishStark
Summary: Christmas 1979. The First Wizarding War reaches its climax and the entire magical community seems to think that all hope has vanished as the victory of the Dark Lord draws nearer every day. Will the Ministry of Magic and the secret organisation known as The Order of the Phoenix be able to defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all? [Spoilers for the entire saga.]
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Fighting fire with fire**

The fire was crackling peacefully in the wood stove of Mr. Crouch's office, maintaining a warm and pleasant temperature, in contrast to the cold that was reigning outside. Christmas of 1979 brought with it a surge of storms and blizzards which had hit much of Britain. The snow was falling copiously on the streets of central London on that chilly December evening. The concerns of the people of non-magical world were the usual for this time of year: Christmas celebrations. Many strolled leisurely the streets, going back home after work, or finalizing their purchases before the upcoming festivities beneath the setting sun. However, the magical community had more important things to worry about: the unstoppable advance of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named towards power, which threatened the entire British population, regardless of whether they were wizards or muggles.

Bartemius Crouch was no exception. As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he found himself periodically buried under endless hours of work, which often forced him to remain in his office for a couple of days straight. On such occasions, and that evening was one of those, his usual stringent and relentless personality used to become bitter and more aggressive.

Putting his quill on the desk, the wizard paused momentarily to rub his eyes trying to compose himself before getting back to his duties. He was feeling exhausted and slumberous due to work and lack of sleep. Mr. Crouch was writing a report on an attack by Dementors in Plymouth. An entire family had lost their lives at the hands of said grotesque creatures. According to what Dumbledore had warned in numerous occasions, the guards of Azkaban had definitely joined the forces of the Dark Lord. The members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol were unable to do anything because when they got there, the parents and their three children were already lying dead on the floor. A brigade of Obliviators had to be sent, because the muggle authorities, called _police_, according to what Mr. Crouch had understood, were asking lots of questions since it wasn't the first time that this kind of crime, without any apparent cause of death –at least for a muggle– had occurred in the country over recent months. Therefore, Barty Crouch was forced to write dozens of reports of this nature a week.

As he picked up his quill again, the wizard was thinking that Death Eaters' attacks also posed a greater threat to the magical community rather than a mere murder. Should these incidents not cease to happen, it would be a matter of time before muggles realize that something was happening in the country, something beyond their understanding. Needless to say, many of them already had their suspicions. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was in jeopardy, and, as the Minister for Magic kindly remembered in the previous day's Daily Prophet, its violation would represent an even greater threat to the magical community than Lord Voldemort's.

Engaged in work and enclosed in his own mind, Mr. Crouch failed to notice that someone had energetically struck the wooden door of his office. Even before he could answer, the door swung open and Alastor Moody entered in a flash, panting as if he had just run a marathon, and placed both hands on Crouch's mahogany desk, trying to catch his breath.

_Insolent_, Barty thought, but he said nothing. He merely gazed at the auror who was in front of his desk, waiting for him to talk first.

"Barty… We've got trouble…" Moody muttered, still panting. Once he was recomposed, he readopted his characteristic stern and biting attitude. "Death Eaters! They're all over the Atrium!"

"They're… here?" Barty posed the question for himself rather than for Moody. It was the first time that Death Eaters were carrying out such a direct offensive; they had never tried to take the Ministry by force before. "What do they want?"

"Oh, surely they're here for a nice little chat and cup of tea." Moody replied sardonically. Barty didn't like being treated by his subordinates in such a disrespectful manner, yet he ignored Moody's comment because, despite his insufferable attitude, he was the best auror the Ministry had at its disposal. "Barty… Fudge's told me Voldemort's been seen."

_So, he's here,_ Barty thought, _certainly I'm not going to allow that neither he nor anyone believe themselves with the right to enter the Ministry and take control by force._ Without wasting a second, Mr. Crouch stood up, taking his wand.

"Has the Minister been evacuated?" Barty asked, to which Moody nodded almost automatically. "Good. Because if Death Eaters think we're going to give up, they're making a huge mistake. Moody, go gather everyone you can and tell them to meet us at the Atrium. The Ministry _will _fight!"

The auror let slip a fleeting, pleased smirk after hearing Crouch's words. Nevertheless, the man looked utterly concerned. "They're all there already. But Barty, we are few, very few indeed…"

"We will resist. I SHALL NOT SUCCUMB TO SUCH SCUM!"

Moody took Crouch's response as a sign that the conversation was settled and he left the room. Crouch did not hesitate to follow him. The two wizards made their way to the main elevator quickly, outpacing some employees who were running senselessly while hundreds of interdepartmental memos were hovering all over their heads. When the lift doors opened, Crouch and Moody entered swiftly without even realizing the elevator was already occupied by three people.

"Barty… what the-?" a male voice asked. He spoke in a pompous and jovial tone. He was a portly little man and was wearing a pinstriped suit, with a scarlet tie and a lime-green bowler hat.

"Fudge!" Moody roared. Cornelius Fudge, at that time Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, flinched when he noticed Alastor Moody's intimidating gaze. "Where were you going?"

"We were going up… The Atrium… Ahem. Dolores and I wanted to use one of the chimneys to go home, but…"

"Cowards!" Moody roared again. Fudge flinched one more time and he walked away as much as he could from Moody, standing right behind Mr. Crouch. A ludicrous wee cough managed to capture the attention of the auror. A woman who actually looked like a big toad took a step forward.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Alastor, how silly of me," she spoke in a sugary voice. Dolores Umbridge let out a stupid giggle, that neither Moody nor Crouch corresponded. "…but as employees of the Ministry for Magic we are not obliged to fight. Unlike some, I know when a cause is lost."

"You b-" Moody shouted, raising his wand menacingly against Dolores.

"Moody!" Crouch stepped in, grabbing the shoulder of the auror. Alastor cooled down a bit, withdrawing his wand, and he devoted himself to glare at Umbridge and Fudge with a deep hatred. Crouch went on, this time addressing to the latter pair.

"You shall come with us to the Atrium, and once the coast is clear, you will be able to go home. It is not necessary for you to join the fight, but do make sure to put Miss Bones out of danger."

Fudge nodded nervously, and Amelia Bones, the young Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, who had not yet opened her mouth so far, smiled shyly in relief, thanking Barty.

It took a couple of minutes for the elevator to get to the top, during which no one thought it opportune to say anything, yet Moody's eyes were still emanating spheres of sheer repulsion towards Fudge and Umbridge. Crouch, meanwhile, kept his wand at the ready, next to Amelia Bones.

"Eighth floor: the Atrium." A female voice announced. The elevator doors opened, and Moody and Crouch, both with their wands at the ready, accessed the spacious lobby. Contrary to what Barty was expecting, there seemed to be nothing out of place. Their arrival was greeted with nervous voices and gestures of despair of some of the ministry's employees. They were hardly more than a dozen; however, there was no sign of the Death Eaters.

"Amelia!" One of those employees shouted, and dodging other wizards and witches, he passed through Mr. Crouch and went straight to Miss Bones, whom he hugged tightly. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, Edgar. I was in the office when I heard the Minister was informed that the ministry was under attack. Upon leaving, I met Cornelius…" Amelia Bones let go of his brother, feeling relieved that he was also safe.

"Merlin, Amy… I was so worried. Listen, you gotta do me a favor." The man was speaking way too fast, looking clearly unsettled, and clenching his teeth. He then made a pause and stared directly at his sister's eyes. "This is bloody serious, I saw _him_. He was here. Would you pop by my house and-"

"Of course." Amelia didn't let him finish the sentence, since it wasn't necessary. She gently caressed the cheek of her brother, who was somewhat desperate; he looked down with a worried frown. "I'll make sure they're safe."

Moving away from the Boneses, Mr. Crouch then approached a group of three men who were whispering to each other, at some distance from the rest of employees. "What's the situation?" Mr. Crouch asked to a tall, stern man who looked like a lion, with that mane of tawny hair and those bushy eyebrows; his eyes were kind of yellowish.

"There was a group of about twenty Death Eaters. We don't know how they got in. They didn't use Floo nor visitors entrance. Ogden, Robards and yours truly," Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, began to explain, pointing to his comrades with his head. "… We managed to erect a barrier beyond the fountain. But that won't hold them for much longer. They will pass through."

"And we'll be right here when they do. Good, Rufus, gather everyone you can, I want to address our men." Barty replied. He was fully aware of the situation. Perhaps they were no match for the Death Eaters and maybe even Lord Voldemort himself, but Crouch wasn't planning to surrender. He was more than willing to end this war once and for all.

Bartemius Crouch crossed the Atrium toward the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Once there, he saw with his own eyes what Scrimgeour had just told him. An invisible barrier had to be holding the Death Eaters, as he witnessed more than a dozen people dressed in black robes and wearing masks, casting spells left and right towards sheer nothingness. The spells bounced off the invisible wall or merely vanished before reaching it. But the Dark Lord was nowhere to be found. Crouch wondered if, in those precise moments, the Dark Mark would be hanging over the Ministry building in central London. It would be very troubling if it were, because it would represent a blatant and direct violation of the International Statute of Secrecy.

Well aware that they were running out of time, Barty went back to the elevator, where his men were already gathered. They were no more than twenty people, wizards and witches, many of them unskilled for combat. Due to Christmas season, many of the aurors and other security staff were at their homes with their families.

"The moment is now." Barty Crouch shouted, addressing the other wizards. Since the Minister had been evacuated, Barty was _de facto_ leader of the ministry's side. "It seems that You-Know-Who has decided to take a step forward to end this war. It's been over ten years of struggle, small battles, some attacks here and there, and sporadic murders of both wizards and muggles. All of you know he's decided to take control of the magical community by force. But we won't allow it. We will show those Death Eaters and their master that dark magic is a _disease _that must be eradicated." Barty made a brief pause, and his words were greeted with cheers and applause by most of those present. He swallowed and resumed his speech, knowing the battle was getting closer and closer. "I will yield to that scum the day hell freezes over. I hate dark magic, and I hate those who practice it. Today we will fight, and we will win. And we will teach this so-called _Dark Lord_ a lesson he shall never forget: that he has no right to impose his will upon the wizarding world. This _is_ war, and as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I hereby authorize the use of lethal force against those who threaten us. If they want to play dirty, so will we." Bartemius Crouch concluded his speech, which was received with cheers and ovations by most of his employees, except for a few who were well-aware of the dangerous words the wizard had just used; Amelia and Edgar Bones were among the latter ones.

While Crouch met with Moody, Robards and Ogden to plan strategy, Rufus Scrimgeour took a step forward to address the others.

"Those who want to leave may do so freely. Only Aurors and other members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are forced into battle. Due to the absence of many personnel, I urge you, once you've left the building, to notify all employees of the Ministry you're acquainted with to come to our aid ASAP and…" Rufus Scrimgeour's words were entombed beneath the sound of an explosion. The magical barrier had fallen and Death Eaters were now advancing toward the inner part of the Atrium. A few employees, including Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge, were already heading for the chimneys eager to escape from the Ministry, and although Amelia Bones wanted to stay and fight, Edgar wouldn't allow it.

"Remember the promise, Amy. You said you'd protect my family…" Edgar was practically begging her. And even though it was true he wanted his family to be safe, he didn't want to see his sister hurt either.

"All right. But you promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Will do, sis." Getting close to her, he gently placed a kiss on her forehead. "Now go!" Edgar witnessed with certain relief how Amelia got into the chimney, and a few seconds later she had vanished into a sea of greenish flames. The auror went to the front to meet with Crouch, Scrimgeour, Moody, Robards and Ogden.

"What's the plan?" Edgar asked. Although the question was directed to everyone, instinctively his gaze drifted to Rufus, his immediate superior, yet it was Moody who answered.

"Grab a Death Eater and fight!" I think we're kinda matched in numbers…" Moody suggested, moving his head back and forth, trying to mentally count the members of each side. The six wizards exchanged glances between them, and after a few seconds, they all nodded.

Barty Crouch went ahead, followed closely by Moody and Scrimgeour, while the others stayed somewhat behind. When they reached one end of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, they stopped, and so did the Death Eaters at the other end. Thus, only the fountain stood between them.

A Death Eater stepped forward.

"Drop your wands, surrender, and maybe the Dark Lord have mercy on you." The Death Eater shouted, his voice sounding metallic and aloof beneath the mask, yet also lurid.

"Dolohov." Moody muttered, acknowledging Dolohov's voice. Crouch had also recognized it. He was ready to reply, but Edgar Bones was the first one to speak.

"Lies. Voldemort knows no mercy." Edgar's comment was greeted with insults. The Death Eaters were starting to get nervous because they thought it disrespectful Bones had uttered the name of their master.

"HOW DARE YOU TO PRONOUNCE THE NAME OF THE DARK LORD?" This was the voice of a twisted, deranged, severely disturbed woman. This time, no one had to say the name; everyone knew who she was. Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the bloodiest and most devoted zealots of Lord Voldemort. "You filthy blood-traitor. Your filthy mouth, yes, the same you use to kiss your filthy mudblood wife, has no right to utter the name of our master." Some laughed at Bellatrix's remark, others taunted Edgar. Barty Crouch could feel the sheer repulsion he professed for the Death Eaters growing; he didn't know how much he could hold himself before losing control.

Another Death Eater spoke this time. "Ministry policies only favor mudbloods and blood-traitors. Muggle Protection Acts, ha! I laugh. They don't need to be protected, they need to be exterminated. The Dark Lord gives priority to purebloods and believes any bond or link between wizard and muggles is an aberration that must be abolished."

Crouch was going to respond, but this time it was Moody who spoke first. "And tell me, Mulciber, how much muggle blood you got in your veins?" Alastor Moody's boldness wasn't welcome. Mulciber Sr. didn't answer. Bellatrix let out a handful of insults and curses. Some Death Eaters started to raise their wands, and so were the ministry employees.

"Yer all bullshit!" a Death Eater shouted, and he spat at Barty Crouch's feet. Crouch had already reached his critical point, and raising his wand, he pointed at the Death Eater's torso and uttered:

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light flew towards the Death Eater and struck him squarely in the chest. The lifeless carcass slumped on the floor, the mask detaching from the face of what used to be a man. It was a young boy, likely recently graduated from Hogwarts. His now emotionless blue eyes denoted an expression of surprise on his face. The fact Barty Crouch had shot to kill without warning paralyzed everyone for a fleeting moment.

"WE SHALL FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE!" Barty Crouch bellowed, his eyes wide with sheer anger. His face contorted into an expression of ultimate hatred and repulsion. And in the blink of an eye, all hell broke loose.

A curse flew toward Mr. Crouch, who barely had the time to shake his wand to repel it. When he realized what was going on, he found himself in front of a tall and well-built Death Eater, who seemed to be waiting for the best opportunity to make a move. Crouch could hear shouts behind him, but he had no time to turn around to look at what was happening. Barty knew that Moody was right behind him for the latter's constant roaring and cursing, seemingly, the auror was engaged in a battle against the bloodthirsty Bellatrix Lestrange judging by the woman's cries. To the right of Crouch, Scrimgeour was engaged in a battle against Dolohov, whose mask had been detached from his face. When the tall Death Eater's lips parted to whisper a curse, Mr. Crouch had no time to react, and he fell to the floor upon receiving a whiplash on his face.

_Avada Kedavra_, Mr. Crouch heard, while he was trying to reach the wand that had slipped through his fingers. Instinctively, the wizard rolled to one side and grabbed his wand, casting a powerful _Confringo._ The jet of green light almost hit his outstretched arm. The Death Eater stepped aside to dodge the blasting curse, which struck the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The huge explosion shattered the fountain, and one of its pieces hit the Death Eater's head. When the man fell down, the mask detached from his face. It was Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband.

Mr. Crouch managed to stand up with a smirk on his face and he pointed his wand at Lestrange, who was pleading for mercy from the floor.

"Roddy!" Bellatrix shouted. The woman made a mistake in trying to warn her husband, because Moody took advantage of the situation and he cast an accurate curse which hit Bellatrix right in her chest.

"Crucio!" Mr. Crouch bellowed. Rodolphus Lestrange writhed in pain while Barty seemed to be enjoying it. He heard the voices of Moody and Scrimgeour. He heard the piercing screams of Rodolphus. But Barty Crouch wouldn't listen; he wanted to punish that man. He wanted to punish that despicable Death Eater for his dark deeds. A jet of red light came off the tip of Moody's wand and hit Rodolphus, knocking him unconscious.

"That's enough, Crouch." Moody patted Barty's back. The wizard didn't answer. He was still staring blankly at Rodolphus's unconscious body.

"Yes… Yes" Mr. Crouch managed to utter. He was finally able to look around. Bones was fighting with Travers. Scrimgeour had beaten Dolohov. And the Lestrange were all knocked out. But there were many corpses: a pair of Death Eaters, and more than ten wizards and witches of the ministry. Even so, Crouch had the feeling the battle was already won. He approached one of those wounded, who was trying to stand on his feet despite he was missing a leg. Barty felt nauseous at the sight of the wounded's stump. He held out a hand for help but a jet of green light struck the injured man, killing him instantly.

"VOLDEMORT!" Edgar Bones shouted. Barty shuddered at the name. Slowly, he turned around to found himself face to face with the Dark Lord. The dark wizard raised his wand, and in a blink of an eye, those present were surrounded by a scorching sea of Fiendfyre. There was no escape.

"You have fought bravely. Lord Voldemort acknowledges your courage. But this battle is over. Surrender and join my side, or you shall suffer the consequences." The Dark Lord spoke in a cold voice, devoid of feeling; there was not even an iota of dread, doubt or pity in it. Maybe that was what terrified Mr. Crouch the most as he was unable to react upon finding himself right in front of Lord Voldemort.

No one seemed to be able to move in the presence of the Dark Lord. Gradually, the Death Eaters were starting to congregate by their master's side. And so did the few wizards and witches of the ministry who were still standing.

"We won't surrender!" Edgar Bones exclaimed. He ventured to look at Voldemort's reddish eyes. A deathly smile formed on the Dark Lord's face, as if he were utterly amused by Bones' boldness.

"Do you dare to defy your Lord?"

"You're not _my_ master!" Edgar Bones cast a curse against Lord Voldemort. The spell was easily deflected by the latter. But that was the signal for the battle to start again.

"My Death Eaters… Kill!" Lord Voldemort shouted.

This time the numerical superiority was favorable to the Death Eaters. Crouch found himself fighting against Rodolphus again, but also against the latter's brother, Rabastan. The wizard was fully devoted to dodge the spells cast by the two brothers, but he knew this wouldn't last long. Eventually, he would fall if the situation didn't change.

"Edgar! Go tell _him_!" Moody's voice could be heard over the shouts and the other voices, over the explosions and spells. Crouch briefly glimpsed a flash of green flames which indicated that Bones had just used the Floo Network. Barty lost the second necessary to respond to the curse cast by Rabastan when he looked to his side to see Bones' departure. The curse struck him and his wand slipped from his hands, leaving Mr. Crouch defenceless.

"Avada Kedavra!" Rodolphus shouted, and Crouch witnessed how a jet of green light flew towards him, but a massive fragment of the Fountain of Magical Brethren suddenly appeared, levitating between the two men, and took the hit for Mr. Crouch. The greenish light jet vanished. Moody appeared beside Barty, and threw the fragment to the Lestrange brothers, leaving them out of action.

"Constant vigilance, Crouch!" Moody roared. But he was not the only one who roared. Voldemort let out a wrathful scream, and the column of Fiendfyre headed towards them. Right in the precise moment when the pillar of fire would have calcined Moody and Crouch, it became water and it vanished. Six new people had just apparated in the Atrium: Edgar Bones, who had returned with Benjy Fenwick, Caradoc Dearborn, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, and, of course, Albus Dumbledore.

_Dumbledore._

_Dumbledore!_

_DUMBLEDORE!_

Screams began to rumble through the Atrium. The Death Eaters fell back, and some of them even disapparated. A choleric Voldemort shouted:

"COWARDS!"

The elder Headmaster of Hogwarts moved towards Lord Voldemort with a friendly smile on his face, so calm and relaxed as if he were walking around the grounds of his dear school, and when he passed by Crouch and Moody's side, he winked at the auror.

"You shouldn't have come here today, Tom."

**Author's note: Thanks to my wonderful beta-reader and dear friend ClonedEsper for all his support.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The fall of the Minister for Magic**

"You shouldn't have come here today, Tom."

Albus Dumbledore's words found their way across the Atrium. The sudden appearance of the elderly Headmaster of Hogwarts was followed by an utter silence, one that no one dared to break. The members of both sides gaped at their leaders, expectant, waiting for an order that never seemed to be coming, for everyone knew that the battle – at least for them – was over. Whatever was about to happen next rested solely on the shoulders of two wizards: Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort.

Albus awaited the answer of his nemesis. The latter had momentarily lost his ability to speak. The veteran leader of the Order of the Phoenix took advantage of those precious seconds to examine Tom Riddle through his half-moon spectacles. Certainly, years had gone by since the last time they saw each other's faces, yet not enough time to explain the dramatic change that Lord Voldemort's features had suffered, Dumbledore thought. His face looked less human. His features, formerly beautiful, had hardened. The Dark Lord's skin was now whitish and had the look and texture of wax; his cheekbones had sunk; and his eyes had acquired a reddish hue. Dumbledore had the feeling that – rather than a face – the Dark Lord seemed to be wearing a mask. Still, there was some beauty in him, inherited from his father, hidden deep underneath.

Lord Voldemort's new aspect wasn't what concerned Dumbledore the most, no; it was the reason behind that transformation. Albus was perfectly aware the dark wizard had ventured into the depths of dark magic – perhaps even further than any other wizard – but even so, that wouldn't explain the deplorable state of the person standing right in front of him. No, there was something else involved here. Dumbledore didn't know for sure, but certainly he was more than willing to investigate it. He wanted to get to the very heart of Voldemort's loss of humanity, or rather, loss of human essence.

"You are wrong, Dumbledore," the Dark Lord finally managed to utter, after a few seconds of silence, his voice sounding like a hiss. It was obvious Voldemort had felt somewhat intimidated by the sole wizard he had ever feared. "You are the one who shouldn't have come, for only death awaits you."

"Perhaps, Tom, perhaps…" Dumbledore conceded, a resigned smile forming on his lips. He spoke in a casual tone, as if he were talking about the weather. "But you should know there are far worse things than death. Your failure to understand such a truth is what has led you here."

"Let us put your theory to the test, shall we?" Voldemort concluded. With an almost undetectable flick of his wand, a stream of green light headed for Dumbledore, who idly shook his, and a huge chunk of rock took the Killing Curse for him. The Elder Wand granted Dumbledore a considerable advantage over his attacker.

Voldemort invoked a pillar of Fiendfyre again. Dumbledore turned it into water a second before being consumed by it, and sent it against his opponent. The spiral of water engulfed Lord Voldemort, and with a subtle flick of wand, the water became ice, forming a sort of icy shell that completely wrapped the Dark Lord. No one even dared to breathe, at least for a split second, the tension becoming tangible, some Death Eaters disapparating upon Dumbledore's victory.

A roar of sheer anger could be heard and the icy prison exploded, icy fragments – large and razor-sharp – flying in all directions. Dumbledore, reacting with astonishing dexterity, summoned a shield charm strong enough to protect everyone from the impact of the icy blades. Voldemort took the moment to cast another _Avada Kedavra_. Dumbledore, once again, reacted with prodigious expertise, his wand throwing a beam of golden flames. Gold collided with green, and for a few seconds, the most powerful wizards of this age – or maybe even of all history – struggled in the attempt of winning the contest.

When green could barely be seen, golden flames about to hit Lord Voldemort, a Death Eater raised his wand, pointing to Dumbledore, lips slowly separating, ready to cast the killing curse. Marlene McKinnon directed her curse to the Death Eater to save Dumbledore's life. The witch's hex missed the arm and hit the Death Eater right in his neck, making a deep cut that wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Father!" shouted another Death Eater, Bellatrix and Rodolphus, two of the few who had decided to remain in the Dark Lord's side, directed their curses to Marlene. It was then the Order's time. Edgar Bones and Dorcas Meadowes managed to deflect the spells before they reached the blonde-haired witch.

A colossal snake was called by Lord Voldemort, the magical summoning aiming to attack the Order of the Phoenix's members. The snake was so huge that his body basically split the Atrium in two sides. On one side, Dumbledore and Voldemort; on the other, the Death Eaters, the snake, and the members of the Order and the Ministry. Marlene saw how green and gold collided again for a brief moment, before the leaders of both sides disappeared behind the body of the enormous serpent. Caradoc aimed a powerful _Confringo_ at the snake, a measure that only stopped the beast momentarily. Crouch, Scrimgeour, Moody and Edgar jumped on the few Death Eaters remaining, the Lestranges among them. The snake recovered from the blasting curse and whipped Caradoc with its tail, throwing the wizard through the air and into a stone wall. Marlene cast an immobilising hex, but it was useless; the snake was too big and strong, and was now heading towards Dorcas. The dark-haired witch tried to cast a spell, but she was not fast enough, and the snake charged against her, trying to bury its fangs deep into her torso. Dorcas reacted, jumping to Marlene's side, as her wand slipped from her hand. Marlene cast another blasting curse, which again did nothing, and she witnessed, filled with dread, as the magical reptile straightened at its full length, showing its long, sharp fangs before the attack. The creature let out an intimidating hiss and then struck Dorcas a second later. Marlene heard someone screaming in pain and she feared the worst, but then to her pleasant surprise, she saw that Dorcas was still standing. Benjy had thrown himself between the witch and the snake and had taken the hit for her. Dorcas, Marlene and Caradoc raised their wands and, at the same time, cast their _Confringo_ spells, all three blasting curses hit the snake, blowing it up into thousand pieces.

The explosion was followed by Voldemort's choleric roar. The blonde witch saw Voldemort by the other side of the Atrium, wounded, looking as if he were doing a great effort to still standing, while Dumbledore's phoenix fluttered around him. His Death Eaters also seemed defeated. But Dumbledore looked impassive, untouched, as calm as always. Voldemort raised his wand and, somehow, drowned the Atrium in utter darkness. Marlene felt as if she had her eyes closed and couldn't open them, but she knew they were open. As soon as light was made again, a second later, Voldemort and his fellows had already disapparated with a loud cracking sound.

"Bloody cowards," Alastor Moody mumbled. The battle was finally over and Ministry and Order had emerged victorious, yet no one seemed to be feeling any sense of victory. There were too many casualties. The auror approached the Death Eater which had been hit by Marlene's curse. "Mulciber – one of the first followers of Voldemort, and a vicious one too. Good riddance."

Marlene, Dorcas and Caradoc approached Benjy, who was still laying on the floor. The wizard crouched by his friend and turned him over. Benjy Fenwick was, fortunately, alive. The snake had barely grazed his side.

"You scared us, mate," Caradoc said, helping the tiny wizard to stand, showing a smile that couldn't hide the relief in his voice.

"I'm fine, really. I'm so small that it's nearly impossible to hit me," Benjy replied, also smirking, now standing thanks to Caradoc's help.

"You shouldn't have-" Dorcas and Benjy were now face to face. The dark-haired witch was considerably taller than little Benjy. Marlene saw the worry on Dorcas' face as she examined Benjy's wound, which didn't look severe.

"Dorcas, I-" That's all Marlene managed to catch as she walked away. Both she and Caradoc had realised the other two needed some privacy. Caradoc patted his friend's back before walking away to help Edgar. However, Marlene said nothing. She remained still, apart from the others, not being able to open her mouth.

As minutes started to pass, people began to crowd into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Barty Crouch and Rufus Scrimgeour were in charge of directing, organising and assigning tasks to the newly arrived. Most of those tasks consisted of tending the wounded, moving the corpses, or repairing what had been destroyed in the heat of battle. The members of the Order disapparated one right after the other after speaking to Albus Dumbledore, who was waiting for the Minister's arrival, except for one: Marlene McKinnon. The witch had remained still in the same position, staring blankly, since her hex had claimed Mulciber Sr.'s life. Dorcas, Caradoc, and even Benjy had approached the blonde, trying to comfort her, with the same negative outcome.

"How d'you feel?" asked a male voice that sounded extremely familiar to Marlene. The witch raised her gaze to meet Edgar Bones' hazel eyes. McKinnon didn't want to – or couldn't – answer. She stared at her friend with her own blue eyes. Marlene hugged Edgar tightly, pressing her head against the auror's chest, trying to bury her face so deep in him that he couldn't see the tears pouring from her eyes and rolling down her cheek. Edgar gently patted the witch's back in a somewhat paternal way. Marlene felt safe in Edgar's arms. Since she graduated from Hogwarts and became a member of the Order, she had been his protégée. Marlene felt proud of being able to count Edgar among her best friends and she couldn't help but seeing him as an older brother.

"I'd like to have a moment of privacy with Miss McKinnon, Edgar, if you wouldn't mind," Dumbledore had just joined them, as Marlene saw from the corner of her eyes. Edgar let go of the witch, shifted his gaze to Albus, then Marlene, then Albus again and he finally nodded.

"Come over later and have some tea with us. Rachel and Amy will be glad to see you," Edgar said, and Marlene nodded with a brief smile. "Until tomorrow, Albus."

"Until tomorrow, Edgar," the elderly Headmaster slightly bowed his head to the auror as farewell. Marlene followed him with her gaze until he had vanished in green flames.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?" Albus inquired. He didn't look angry, but somewhat disappointed, even though he was speaking as always in a gentle and relaxed tone. Marlene didn't know how to answer.

"I panicked, I guess. I thought Mulciber was going to hit you with a killing curse— and I had to do something," Marlene conceded. The witch couldn't help but feeling stupid. They were at war, for Merlin's pants! That was a damned battle and she just saved Albus Dumbledore's life. She was a heroine. So why was she feeling the way that she did?

"I understand," Albus answered. Marlene waited for him to say something else, but apparently the elderly Headmaster had nothing to add. He examined the witch through his half-moon spectacles, which made Marlene feel somewhat awkward, as she had the feeling her mind was being read._ You understand what, exactly?_ she thought.

"I didn't mean to kill him! I was actually aiming for his arm—," Marlene added, when she felt unable to keep quiet any longer.

"I don't doubt it. Yet you used dark magic. Remember: if we act like Death Eaters, then what will differentiate us from them?"

"You're right. It shan't happen again," the witch replied, after a few seconds of thinking.

"Very well. Then you may leave."

* * *

Albus watched as the young witch disapparated through one of the chimneys. The elder wizard stared blankly at the point where Marlene had just vanished, lost in his own thoughts, and it took him a second to realise the Minister had just arrived. Herod Shafiq, an ancient wizard with a short, white hair, almost bald, and tiny, inexpressive, green eyes, approached Dumbledore, followed by Crouch and Scrimgeour.

"We must talk, Albus. Let's go to my office."

Dumbledore nodded, thinking the Minister would probably want to know what had happened exactly. The elderly Headmaster of Hogwarts followed Shafiq and the other two until the elevator, next to which he saw Dolores Umbridge, who had returned after the battle, speaking to a young, blonde woman, who Albus identified as a journalist from The Daily Prophet. Once inside the elevator, and before the doors closed, Dumbledore spotted Elphias Doge chatting with Bob Ogden as they tended one of the wounded that hadn't been moved to St. Mungo yet. Alleging to have forgotten something, the elder slinked from the elevator, promising to go the Minister's office as soon as possible.

"Albus," Elphias said, as a greeting. Albus had known the wizard since his youth days, he had been his best friend at Hogwarts, and still was after all those years. "That carrion witch," Doge said, pointing at the blonde journalist with his head, "is looking for someone to speak ill of you for her reportage. I told her I'd rather eat one hundred ounces of dragon dung than answering her questions."

Dumbledore smiled before Bob Ogden's surprised look, who, despite being tending the wounded, was paying attention to the conversation. "Oh, you shouldn't have told her that, my dear Elphias, if you don't want to be a victim of her quill."

"I think we crossed that bridge long ago—" Elphias conceded, thoughtful, looking down. He got closer to his best friend, and whispered, trying not to be heard by Ogden. "Voldemort looked different, right?" Albus nodded, as Elphias' eyes moved around, checking his surroundings, making sure they weren't being heard. "What, do you think, has happened to him?"

"I have a couple of theories," Albus answered, not entirely sure of the certainty of his words. Tom Riddle's current state was actually an unknown. An intriguing one, for that matter. "Which I expect to share with you tomorrow."

It wasn't necessary to say more, for Elphias understood the look in Albus' face: he wanted to speak privately with Ogden. After saying goodbye, the oldest member of the Order of the Phoenix vanished in green flames, granting Dumbledore his wish.

"How is your father, Bob? I have heard he came down with a dragon pox."

The auror stood, the top of his head barely grazing the chin of the elderly Headmaster of Hogwarts. He was as short as his father. Albus saw a great worry in Ogden's eyes. He didn't need to use Legilimency to know that.

"He doesn't have much time left— Healers say he's got maybe a couple of weeks or a month at best. I had to cast an immobilising hex on him to make sure he'd stay in bed. The old man says he's been fighting dark wizards for over fifty years and he won't rest until he sees You-Know-Who six feet under."

"He's a brave man, Bob," Dumbledore answered, trying to comfort the auror with a firm pressure on his shoulder. Obtaining the memory of someone as important as Bob Ogden Sr. would prove fruitful, to say the least. Through his many years of service, it is possible that he acquired some knowledge on Lord Voldemort's past and that knowledge could be used to bring him down. However, there was a problem: Albus would have to move fast if he wanted to get to the dying man in time. He feared an excess of tactlessness would prevent him from seeing the old Ogden in his deathbed. "I think I would like to see him and bid farewell properly, as your father deserves."

"Of course. He'd be happy to see you, Albus. He has you in great esteem."

* * *

"You did the right thing, Marlene. I'd have done the same if I were you."

Amelia Bones gave her a warm smile from the other side of the table of the Boneses' living room, a smile that wasn't able to comfort Marlene. The noise from the kettle burst into the conversation and allowed the witch the luxury of not having to respond. Rachel, Edgar's wife, appeared next to the other two women with a kettle in her hands.

"Tea is ready, dear. With milk and two sugars?"

Rachel didn't wait for Marlene to answer, and when the witch had nodded with a fleeting, grateful smile appearing in her lips, her cup was already filled and ready to be drunk. Rachel filled Amelia's cup too before leaving the kettle on the wooden table and sitting next to her sister-in-law.

"I saved _his_ life, Amy—"

Marlene stopped herself before finishing the sentence and, trying to conceal it, she had to drink some tea, which scorched her throat and stomach. She didn't feel able to say what she really thought. It was true she had used dark magic and she had killed a man. She didn't feel proud of it, and it affected her at first. But after giving it some thought, Marlene didn't feel bad for that. She had saved the life of the most powerful wizard in history, her former Headmaster, the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix. And yet, she hadn't been congratulated for that. She hadn't been given even a thanks; only a rebuke for using the wrong spell.

"But?"

Amelia was a smart witch, one of Marlene's closest friends. The blonde was sure Amy had realised she had many things yet to say, but she didn't dare. Amy and Edgar were that sort of people you cannot lie to. They were always able to read Marlene. The witch simply didn't know how to express her frustration.

"I thought at least he could have said thanks— I know it's selfish. But it'd have made me feel better." Marlene couldn't keep looking at Amelia, so she decided to play with her teaspoon instead. Amy said nothing, as Marlene looked like she hadn't finished. "I saved his life! What about a 'Thank you, Miss McKinnon, for preventing _Lord Voldemort_'s goons from killing me'? But nope. Instead he makes me feel like shite." She had raised her voice; she had lost control. Things she wasn't used to. And yet, oddly, she felt better. Marlene was expecting a rebuke from her friend too, but, curiously, Amelia Bones was smiling. Though she wasn't the one who replied.

"Come on, Marlene, we're talking about dear ol' Albus here. You know how he is. You did good and_ I_ am proud of you."

Edgar Bones had just appeared in the living room. The witch felt a strong hand pressing her shoulder in a comforting way. She felt even better. Edgar always managed to do it. The auror kissed his wife and sat next to his dear little sister to drink his tea and enjoy his wife's pastries.

"Feeling better now?" Amelia asked. Marlene nodded, taking a sip to her cup. "Sometimes it's better to just let everything out. I wasn't there, but from what you're saying, I'd have done the same."

"Everyone would," Edgar added. "We're a team. We're supposed to protect each other. Ol' Albus understands, that's why he's quite fond of you, but sometimes you know he acts somewhat… erm… indulgent with the enemies—"

"He thinks he'll convince them with words, I know." Marlene finished the sentence for Edgar. She let out a brief but genuine smile that made her feel much better.

"Maybe my words are not as valuable as Dumbledore's, but I assure you, Marlene, you've been a heroine today."

There was a silence after the auror's asseveration. Marlene didn't know how to answer. She felt a warm in her cheeks, which indicated her she might have flushed. Amelia giggled and nodded looking at her brother. The witch managed to mutter a shy _Thanks_ when Rachel invited her to stay for dinner. After a life-or-death battle against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the outlook of a relaxing and peaceful evening with the Boneses looked really tempting.

* * *

"Are you completely sure of your decision, Herod?"

Dumbledore was examining the Minister for Magic through his half-moon spectacles from the other side of the desk. The wizards in the office were in shock upon hearing the news. Rufus Scrimgeour looked as he didn't believe what he just heard; Alastor Moody had an expression of disapproval on his face; while Barty Crouch looked half surprised, half expectant. Herod Shafiq, the Minister, had just announced his resignation.

"Absolutely, Albus. I've been thinking about it for weeks and I have concluded that, given the situation, I am not the right person to face the problems we're presented with. The time has come for me to step aside and let in someone more capable than me."

Albus remained silent, still examining the Minister. Herod was an ancient man, with short, almost balding, white hair and inexpressive eyes. What really worried the elderly Headmaster wasn't Shafiq's resignation, but the moment he decided to do it and the reasons behind it. Was he being pressured by someone? Was his family in danger? An avalanche of questions without answer started to congregate in Albus' mind. The elderly Headmaster, acknowledging it wasn't the best time to ponder on such matters, decided to confine them in a corner of his mind, and focus on here and now.

Taking his time before replying, the most powerful wizard of this era was fidgeting with the lowest part of his long, silver beard, carefully scrutinising the Minister's face. "If you are so convinced, my dear Herod, I won't oppose to your decision," Dumbledore finally conceded, feeling watched by everyone. "Have you thought of your successor?"

Upon hearing the elderly Headmaster of Hogwarts, Barty Crouch unceremoniously straightened up on his chair, expectant, trying to control his apparently uncontrollable emotion. Minister Shafiq noticed it and so did Albus. Dumbledore didn't trust Barty, no doubts about it, yet he had to humbly admit that, at the end of the day, Barty always managed to get the job done; and indeed, he might be the most proper candidate to the Minister's office in the war situation the wizarding world was currently living in. Even so, he was power-hungry. And Dumbledore knew from first hand what power hunger was and how it could corrupt even the purest of men. He didn't believe old Barty able to handle such huge power without feeling overwhelmed by it. Dumbledore feared that, consciously or unconsciously, power would end up corrupting Barty. That was something the wizarding world couldn't afford in their situation. Maybe, and just maybe, it would be better to look for someone else, someone without any interest in power, someone able to conduct the situation without losing contact with reality, someone able to keep their feet on the ground.

"As a matter of fact, I have," the Minister replied, looking at Barty through the corner of his eyes. "Albus, I do believe you are the fittest person to lead us. You're the only wizard he fears or has ever feared. And you also have earned the respect of the entire magical community. I can't think of a more suitable successor."

Dumbledore heard Barty's voice, but wasn't able to decipher its meaning. The elderly Headmaster's mind had just abandoned that office. Once again in his lifetime, he found himself tempted to achieve power. He let his body feast with that feeling for a fleeting second, only one, that's all he would get. And he thought of Ariana. His late sister's image was now wandering freely about his head, and not even Occlumency would make her disappear. Ariana, his _dear_ Ariana. There wasn't a day Albus Dumbledore didn't regret letting himself be seduced by Gellert's ideas. How easy must have been for Gellert to convince such a brilliant and powerful –yet broken and frustrated– young wizard to join his evil plans of dominion! Oh, how easily Albus was allowed to dream of a new world, swimming in the naiveté of youth, ignoring a reality that was screaming into his ears; a little voice in his head that was telling him not to trust Gellert Grindelwald. Albus ignored his brother Aberforth, a vulgar yet infinitely better man than himself. He neglected his dear sister. He failed his family. And after all those years, the sorrow for Ariana's loss was still burning deep inside his soul, scorching everything in its way as if it were Fiendfyre. Power was Albus Dumbledore's greatest weakness and he was aware of that. That's why he had always tried to avoid it. But it was hard. No one could even imagine how hard it was. No one could understand why he was doing it. But he didn't care. For the greater good, to honour Ariana's memory, to keep the ghost of Gellert Grindelwald away from him, Albus had secluded himself in a life away from power, alone, scared of himself, not even being allowed to feel love. All for a _greater good_.

"Albus?"

The Minister's voice drove his thoughts away and Ariana vanished after a door that, no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't open. _Farewell, my sweet Ariana_.

"I'm afraid I will have to kindly deny your offer, my dear Herod," Dumbledore managed to answer, unaware of the time it took him to do it. He gave the Minister a smile, falsely humble, falsely kind. "My seat at Hogwarts keeps me overly busy and it wouldn't be right to abandon my students for an office I don't belong to."

"Somehow, I knew you'd say that, Albus," Shafiq muttered, looking disappointed but not surprised by Dumbledore's decision. The Minister raised, moving his chair, and started to walk back and forth along his desk. He adopted a stern look, thinking of the decision he would have to make. "Standard procedure, then. If we all agree, I propose Bartemius Crouch, current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as my successor. Barty?"

Crouch couldn't believe what he was hearing, or at least that was how it had seemed to Dumbledore. Barty looked at everyone, a smile appearing in the corner of his lips. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"It is an honour to assume the Minister's office. You know me and you know I'd do everything to stop_ him_. I will fight until my last breath to make sure our world is free from psychopathic bastards like him."

Dumbledore couldn't help but notice the hatred and rancour behind Mr. Crouch's words. He didn't trust him, no matter how he tried. The future of the magical community would be uncertain if he allowed Barty to lead the Ministry. But he said nothing. He didn't want to impose his will. He let everyone else to give their opinion. It was wiser that way because Albus didn't want to antagonise Barty, especially considering they would have to work together in the near future.

"You've got all my support, Barty," Rufus Scrimgeour said, slapping his boss' back. Dumbledore knew that, even if not at Barty's levels, Rufus was a supporter of discipline and firm hand, and a fanatic of a job well done. Rufus and Barty had been working together for years and they shared some kind of friendship. Dumbledore wasn't surprised to see the Head of the Auror Office supporting Crouch's candidacy. "We've fought together for years and it'll be an honour to put an end to this war once and for all."

Barty nodded upon hearing Scrimgeour's words. However, Alastor Moody, who was standing still right next to the chimney, didn't look all that convinced. Albus knew what the Auror thought of Crouch, that he was folly, basically, but Moody liked some of Barty's ways too. Alastor, though, was one of Albus closest friends and a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore knew the auror would follow any decision he took, even if it meant to oppose Barty.

"Alastor?" Crouch asked. Moody, despite not holding any office within the Ministry, was one of their most valuable members, because he was the most efficient auror and one of the few who weren't scared of facing Lord Voldemort. Often one would find Alastor Moody implicated in the Ministry's decision making, especially regarding the hunt of dark wizards.

Moody let out a grunt for an answer. Albus watched as the auror tried to crush a big, black beetle under his foot. Ultimately, it got away through the chimney. "Take the decision you want, but take it fast. While we're here chattin', Voldemort's out there, killing."

Albus knew it was his turn. Everyone was looking at him, expectant, Barty's eyes locked on his own. "Barty," Dumbledore began, showing a kind smile that was aiming to empathise with Crouch. "Your work at the Ministry is admirable, I think no one in this office doubts of it. Yet, much to my regret, I have to admit that, in my humble opinion, you are not the most suitable candidate to lead the wizarding world in this moment. Despite the fact your policy of fighting fire with fire is efficient, it would be absurd to deny it, I do consider that carrying it out turns us precisely into those we are fighting. I don't want to put you against me, my dear Barty, since I appreciate your efforts for keeping our world safe, however I would like to propose an alternative method of doing things."

A deathly silence followed the elderly Headmaster's words. Rufus Scrimgeour was thunderstruck; the Minister had sit again; Alastor, with his gaze locked on Crouch and his hand locked on his wand. Barty looked at Dumbledore with an expression filled with animosity. He looked clearly upset.

"And tell me, what strategy are you proposing to face dark wizards that don't show even the slightest bit of mercy? I know you're a supporter of dialoguing, of trying to conciliate both sides, of stopping_ him_ without a bloodshed. Wake up, Dumbledore! We don't live in an idyllic world. We live in a world where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been terrorising for years, murdering our families, consuming the life of our world, bit by bit. If we don't face him with his weapons, we'll never beat him."

Dumbledore couldn't deny most would agree with Barty's vision. But he had lived long enough to realise that, if one would have to be like Lord Voldemort to defeat him, victory would be futile. He knew Tom Riddle could be defeated without having to resort to his own tactics. Everyone seemed to have forgotten he was human, as anyone, with his weaknesses. And only deep knowledge and a thorough research on Tom Riddle's past would bring the tools necessary to take him down. He had escaped death for so long, never wavering nor losing, that Albus Dumbledore was convinced it wasn't possible to finish Lord Voldemort by conventional means. There was something more, something that escaped his vast knowledge, something he was hoping to find someday. And in the meantime, all that can be done is to contain him, to prevent him from causing any more deaths, to hold his destruction, until the day his biggest secret is finally uncovered.

"Sometimes, Barty, the best way to fight fire is with water."

After that enigmatic remark, Barty Crouch struck the table with his fist, willing to defy Dumbledore. The Minister intervened before Crouch could answer.

"What do you have in mind, Albus?"

Shafiq's words sounded over Barty's _Why do we always have to do what he says?_ The Minister tried to silence Barty, waving with his hand.

"I propose Millicent Bagnold as a candidate to succeed you, Herod," Dumbledore's proposal surprised everyone. Shafiq's expression wasn't of dislike, though, it was more of a surprise. Barty stood, unable to hold his rage any longer.

"The Healer? How is Bagnold going to help us face the Dark Lord? What's she going to do, cast a healing spell on him?" Barty must have realised the stupidity of his words, because he sat back immediately after his outburst, trying to normalise his breath. Dumbledore looked angrily at Barty and the latter must have noticed because he looked away.

"Millicent Bagnold is not only a Healer, but she is also the Director of St. Mungo's, and yes, Barty, I do believe she is the most suitable for the job. A gentle face, a kind person, and with any luck she'll be able to compensate your ruthless methods with a refined policy. A Healer that will heal the magical community; that is what we need. Barty will be the strength; Millicent will be the calm. It looks like the best option to me and I believe Herod will agree."

The Minister, ignoring Crouch's complaints, took a few seconds for himself before replying, pressured by Albus Dumbledore. The elderly Headmaster took advantage of the visual contact between them to access Shafiq's mind. The sensation he felt could be described in one word: insecurity. Something bad was going on that was making him feel totally unsure, unable to decide and to act. His mind felt exhausted and full of tribulations. The Minister broke visual contact and the connection ceased.

"Crouch is a decent candidate and it's also the legitimate procedure," Herod Shafiq began, with his words being followed by Barty Crouch's triumphant smirk. "However, Albus' proposal is worth considering. To be honest, I believe making the call all by myself would be unfair, especially in our current situation. As I see that no matter for how long we talk we won't get anywhere, I conclude that the decision will be voted on by Wizengamot's full court."

Barty complained, of course he complained. Dumbledore could hear words like _unfair_ and _absurd_, but his mind was busy again to pay him any attention. Albus felt triumphant. Submission to the court was a favourable option for Bagnold, since Albus was the Chief Warlock, and also was friends with most of the Wizengamot's members. While not taking any pride in it, he would be able to convince the vast majority to vote for Bagnold. Barty Crouch would_ not_ be the next Minister; that was guaranteed.

* * *

Clack.

_My family will be safe. Nothing will happen to them. I will protect them from him_.

Clack. Clack.

_I don't care what happens to me as long as they're safe_.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The Minister for Magic was making his way swiftly through the corridor of the Department of Mysteries in his quest to meet Augustus Rookwood, an Unspeakable and personal friend, in charge of his family's moving. He still had in mind that conversation with Dumbledore and Crouch, in which they had decided to leave the election of the new Minister in hands of the Wizengamot. Herod Shafiq had had enough. He was an old and tired man, sick of wizarding quarrels, sick of conspiracies between powerful families, sick of always being in the middle of everything. He had never forgotten the only reason why he was still being Minister and being alive was because he had the Dark Lord's approval. But despite sharing the same ideas than the Death Eaters during his youth and his early tenure as Minister, he had been distancing from them as time passed. He hadn't been a puppet Minister as he expected, on the contrary, he had been trying to protect all wizards and witches from Lord Voldemort by any means. But age weighed on his soul now and the attack on the Ministry had made everything look clearer than ever. The time to step aside had arrived. If he managed to get out alive, he would turn himself in and stand trial for his crimes. If he died, at least he would do it in an honourable way, trying to be a better man in death than he was in life.

Clack. Clack. Clack. CLACK.

The Minister found himself in a dead end, in front of a locked door. Rookwood was nowhere to be found. The only thing that could be heard was a loud, cracking sound of something hitting on the floor. He hadn't noticed the sound before, being too focused on his own thoughts. And then the sound was finally identified: a tall man, with a long, platinum blonde, almost white, hair, completely dressed in black, with elegant robes and holding a cane with a silver snake on top of it. The sound stopped when the Minister for Magic and the man in black were standing face to face.

"Minister, what a pleasant surprise seeing you here," Abraxas Malfoy's voice sounded like a snake's hiss. He pretended to look kind but Herod knew better: behind that false kindness laid nothing but cruelty and coldness. The patriarch of Malfoy's family, one of the most ancient, wealthy and powerful families of the wizarding world, gave the Minister a gelid smile, filled with animosity.

"The same to you," Shafiq replied, curtly, increasing the pressure on his wand, hidden in his coat pocket. He started to have problems breathing due to fear and insecurity. "What brings Abraxas Malfoy to the Department of Mysteries? One would think he is… up to something."

"A message," Abraxas replied. It wasn't necessary to say from whom, since the look of fear on the Minister's face made it clear. "Disturbing news have reached our mutual friend's ears. I expect it isn't true, because I would dearly regret an old friend's demise."

The Minister gulped, knowing the Dark Lord was aware of his resignation. But how? Only a few hours had passed since the meeting with Dumbledore, Crouch, Scrimgeour and Moody. He realised there was a spy in the Ministry. Of course there was. He should have thought of that before, seeing how obvious it was.

"What's the message?" Shafiq asked, trying to look immune to Malfoy's threats, and not wanting to yield before the despicable wizard so-called _old friend_.

"Remember who placed you there."

And with that, Malfoy turned around, his long hair grazing the Minister's nose tip, and he got away, slowly, limping, with the aid of his walking stick. Herod realised he would not make it out alive, but he wished with all his heart and prayed to all gods he had at least enough time to move his family to safety.

"I trust you'll do the right thing, Herod," Abraxas exclaimed, from the other end of the corridor.

Clack. Clack. Clack. And the sound stopped.

**Author's note: Thanks to my wonderful beta reader and dear friend Tom Redfield for all his support. **


End file.
